


The Tuscan Terror

by lochlommond (Biddybatch)



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 11:10:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1938684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biddybatch/pseuds/lochlommond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tintin and Captain Haddock have been in peaceful retirement at Marlinspike for nearly ten years.  Completely out of nowhere, Bianca Castafiore invites them to her glamorous Tuscan villa for a month-long retreat - and the surprise of a lifetime!  The boys get even more than they bargained for when they learn of the haunting mystery of the nearby abandoned mansion.  What happens when they dig up the ghosts of a secret past that might have been better left alone?  (“Misericordia!”)</p><p>[ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go, my first ever published fic! I'm terribly new to this fandom and I'm far from an expert, but I fell in love with Tintin last December and haven't looked back. It's so sad to see so few fics for a world of media that's been around longer than my grandparents, so I figured I ought to add to the little we have!
> 
> From what I have planned, this is going to be a really long story - it might hit 50k words at least! I have everything plotted out and a few chapters done already. The plan is to update either every week or every two weeks, but I can't make any promises.
> 
> Teen + Up Rating for eventual language and scary scenes.
> 
> I'd love to hear some feedback, and I hope you enjoy the story! xxx

***

 

“Tell me the truth, Captain,” Tintin asked, breath ghosting in front of him in the night chill, “what did you really think of Madame Lavelle’s party?  Personally I thought it was at least better than last month’s disaster.”

“Tch, not entirely unpleasant, I suppose,” he replied.  “The music selection was lacking, and they could have bothered to serve more than just wine and water.  I must credit the young Mademoiselle Jacqueline, however.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For her tireless pursuit of that dashing ginger reporter, what’s-his-face.”  Haddock adjusted his right arm so Tintin could hook his left arm through its crook, and Tintin hummed an acknowledgement, turning his face to hide his smile.  (How embarrassing to grin like a schoolboy every time Haddock complimented him!)

“Yes, ever since he retired, that handsome fellow has turned the head of many a gorgeous young woman,” Haddock continued.  “He’s a mysterious lad, isn’t he?  Showing up to every party in the village, but never dancing with a single lass.”

“Oh, yes, I remember him, now,” Tintin answered.  “Though you can’t go without mentioning the tall, burly gentleman he keeps company with.  The old seafarer, Captain whose-it.”

“Who’re you calling old and burly, landlubber?” Haddock smirked, using his free hand to ruffle Tintin’s hair, and Tintin could no longer hide his smile.

“Fine, fine, the _mature_ and _very dignified_ gentleman,” Tintin ceded, and Haddock gave a curt nod in approval.  The two men, and Tintin’s dog, fell into companionable silence as they walked the streets of Marlinspike.  Despite the calendar alerting the people of the village that it was, in fact, June, a cool breeze reminded them that Summer was still just out of reach.  The Captain, the famed reporter, and the aging fox terrier were alone on their stroll home; it was a few minutes past eleven, and the rest of the residents of Marlinspike had long ago decided that it was quite late enough to justify sleeping.

“But isn't this the life, Tintin?” Captain Haddock exclaimed, gesturing with his free arm to an invisible audience.  “The retired life, I mean, oh yes.  The freedom to laze about and do as a man pleases, or to keep oneself busy with trips to the cinema and concerts and museums!  There is no losing when one is retired, and that is just the way I like it.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Tintin replied.  “I’m not just saying it, I promise I do agree.  I enjoy time off as much as anyone else.  Now that I think about it, the flea market should be back in business, no?  It’s been a while since we've gone down to that.  Would you like that, Snowy?”

“ _Woah_!” came the crisp bark from the men’s ankles.

“You know I nearly forgot about that,” Haddock said as they approached Marlinspike Hall’s front gate.  The trio turned onto the estate’s sprawling grounds and began the trek up the gravel drive toward the chateau.  “The last time I remember being there was to accompany dear Cuthbert as he bought some supplies for some hair-brained invention or other.  And now that I think about it, when’s the last time we've seen him?”  Haddock’s train of thought was interrupted as they climbed the stairs to the front doors.  The ever-faithful Nestor stood inside, waiting to accept coats and welcome the masters home.

“Good evening, sirs,” he droned, though not with malice, as he so graciously took their coats and followed them to their preferred sitting room - the one with the fireplace, the wine cabinet, the wall-length bookshelf and enormous paneled windows.  “This evening I have compiled the dues owed to the gardener and the chefs for this week.  I have also made the beds, swept the kitchen, polished the wooden furniture, and I have begun work on that burden of a back room near the dining hall.  I hope Madame Lavelle’s party was to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you, Nestor,” Tintin replied, claiming the royal blue settee for his own.  “Well, I thought it was enjoyable, but the Captain will say otherwise.”

“Very good, Master Tintin.  Will there be anything else tonight, sirs?”

“No, Nestor, that’ll be all,” Haddock said, staking his own claim to the rustic leather arm chair near the fireplace.

“Goodnight, sirs,” Nestor concluded, dismissing himself upstairs to his own room.  Snowy, who’d been sniffing around the perimeter of the room for the Captain’s devil of a cat, finally joined Tintin on the settee, curling himself up on his master’s lap.  Tintin laid back, newly occupied with the book he’d started just the day before - some retelling of the life of an old American cowboy from the Victorian era.  The Captain had acquired some seltzer water from the wine cabinet, and Tintin laughed to himself as he watched the Captain try to drink it, wincing the whole while.  Calculus’s pills from the fiasco in South America had failed to ever wear off, and liquor was out of the question for Haddock.  That thought, however, reminded Tintin of their previous discussion.  

“We are quite overdue for a visit from Calculus, though, are we not?  He’s been away for some time, now, it’s a wonder we haven’t heard from him yet.”

“Tell me, lad, just where is Calculus again?  Baloney?”

“ _Bologna_ , _mon Capitaine_ ,” Tintin said, eyes fixated on his book.  “He accompanied Signora Castafiore to her last few performances in Italy before she takes her Summer hiatus, right?  But that was nearly a month ago.”

“That’s what he said before he left.  Maybe you could give him a call in the morning; I think the contact he left us is still on the message board in the kitchenette.”

“Perhaps I will,” Tintin sighed, closing his book and sitting up.  “Until then, however, I think I will retire to bed.  Goodnight, _Capitaine_."  He stopped next to Haddock and placed a chaste kiss to the top of his head.  "Don’t stay up too late.”

“Goodnight, _mon cher_.”

***

Early mornings at Marlinspike Hall could best be described as “serene”.  Captain Haddock was always first to rise, up at the crack of dawn like any seasoned sailor.  His morning routine was quick and to the point: shower, shave, dress, and make his way downstairs to the kitchenette, where Nestor would serve him his morning coffee and have the cooks begin to prepare breakfast.  The cat would settle herself atop the bench beneath the window, and Haddock would busy himself with the paper, hot coffee cup warming the palm of his hand.  The chateau would always be dead-silent, save for the rustling of the newspaper and the faint clanging of pots and pans from the kitchen.  Light would begin to filter through the window as the sun rose ever higher, flooding the small room with a delicate, white light.

Tintin always, eventually, makes it downstairs to join the Captain for breakfast.  Despite his seemingly-endless energy, Tintin seemed to be losing his grasp of mornings as he grew older; Snowy’s bounding form made for a laughable contrast as the reporter gingerly positioned himself across from Haddock, eyes still half-closed.

“Good morning, Master Tintin.  Would you like your coffee, now?” Nestor asked, setting Tintin’s breakfast plate and silverware out for him.  When Tintin didn’t respond, head lolling slightly forward, Haddock reached across the table and lightly jostled his arm.

“You among the living, lad?” he laughed as Tintin jolted awake.

“ _Oui, oui...  Comment vous dite_ s?”  [Yes, yes... What did you say?]

“ _Café, Monsieur_?” Nestor effortlessly replied back.

“ _Oui, merci_.”  Being born and raised in England didn’t seem to prevent Nestor from learning all the tricks of the Belgian butler trade; these included learning his master’s first language - at least the phrases that would serve the most necessary of demands, which in Tintin’s case, was his morning coffee.

As Nestor left to retrieve the coffee pot, Haddock laughed again and asked, “English not quite working yet?”  Tintin rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, groaning as he did.

“ _Quoi?  Oh, mon dieu_ \- I mean - you know how I am in the morning.”  Tintin missed the Captain’s muttered “All too well, I’m afraid” as Nestor returned with Tintin’s liquid salvation.  “ _Merci beaucoup_ , Nestor, thank you.”  He sipped at it with relish, draining nearly half of his cup; his brilliant blue eyes seemed to widen almost immediately.  “Is there any mail this morning?”

“There is indeed, Sir, right here,” Nestor said, pulling the masters’ mail from inside his jacket and setting it down in between them.  He dismissed himself as Haddock began shuffling through the envelopes.  He reached the bottom of the stack, and gasped audibly.  Tintin looked up from his coffee to see what was the matter when the Captain dramatically thrust the last piece of mail at him.  

“See for yourself, lad, oh the _horror_!” he moaned, burying himself in his abandoned newspaper.  Tintin gazed down at the letter to seen an all-too familiar cursive that could only belong to one woman.  The woman, he laughed to himself, turning over the expensive

(and suspiciously thick) parchment in his hand.  He used his bread knife to quickly slit open the envelope, and he pulled out the letter folded inside.  He briskly scanned the first few lines and couldn’t help but gasping aloud, himself.

“What, what is it?” The Captain barked, flattening his paper on the table.

“Read for yourself!” Tintin exclaimed, eyes wide in shock.  Haddock took the letter from him and set to reading what La Signora had written them.

 

 

> Dearest Tintin and Captain Harrock;
> 
> Warmest greetings from _Bologna_!  As you know, I am finishing up a series of performances here before taking a well-deserved break from the stresses of fame.  I have recently had renovations done to my summer home in the Tuscan countryside, and plan to stay there for my hiatus.
> 
> But this letter is not to brag about my glamorous lifestyle.  No, I am writing to share the good news!  Your dear friend Professor Calculus and I are engaged!  It is all very hush-hush - no one knows but us, and we would like to keep it that way for now.  He will be joining me in _Toscana_ , and we would like to formally invite you to join us for the month of July so we may celebrate together as friends!
> 
> Enclosed are plane tickets to _Milano_.  We made you reservations to stay the night in a hotel there.  There are also tickets for a train that will take you to _Toscana_ the next morning.  Please pack for warm weather, and remember to include your very best clothes for our nights out on the town!
> 
> _A presto, i miei amici_!  [Until then, my friends!]
> 
> Bianca Castafiore

“En-en- _engaged_!” Haddock exclaimed, the letter slipping through his hands.  “Calculus!?  And that, that banshee woman!?  I don’t - when did he? - Tintin what in blue blazes is happening?”

“I - I’m speechless, Captain,” Tintin managed, pulling the letter back to reread.  “I never quite took the professor for being the romantic type, but he’s proven me wrong before.”

“Why didn’t he write?  Or call, he could have called!”  Haddock pushed his chair back and began pacing the length of the breakfast table  “This must be some sort of mistake, can she really mean our Professor Calculus?   _Our_ Cuthbert?  It must be a ploy, some sick gangster’s idea of pulling me - I mean, _us_ \- out of retirement.”

“I admit it’s very shocking, Captain...  Though you should know by now that the professor can be a very secretive person.  Remember the weeks, months he spent in his lab working on that nuclear project?”

“That was him constructing top-secret weapons of war, Tintin, not planning his damn engagement!  Oh, thundering typhoons, all that aside, if you think for a minute that I will voluntarily spend a month locked up with Castafiore - well - well...  I refuse!  I simply refuse, and you can’t make me go!”

“Oh, Captain, you must!  Would you disappoint our dear Professor Calculus?  I don’t believe he has many other friends that would be willing to celebrate with him.”  Tintin stood as well and blocked Haddock’s way.  “Please, Captain, it’s only for a month, and-”

“ _Only_!”

“-and we’ve been through far worse for Calculus than staying with La Signora.  Not to mention all he’s done for us - don’t forget that he bought this very chateau in the first place for _you_.”

Haddock heaved a great sigh and tucked his arms against his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering to himself.  “Will you at least give me time to think about it, then?” he moaned, staring at the floor.

“Fine,” Tintin conceded, taking a step back from the Captain and adjusting the cuff of his powder blue shirt.  “Though I expect an answer by supper!” he added, wagging a finger and returning to his abandoned coffee, which had gone slightly cool in the hullabaloo.

“Deal,” replied the Captain, who settled himself back into his own chair.  “Engaged... What will he do next?”

“Marry, I suppose,” Tintin said, barely containing his laughter as the Captain let his head fall to the table in exasperation with a frankly uncalled-for _crash_!

 

***

Tintin couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so anxious over something so... normal.  In fact, ‘anxious’ wasn’t even the right word.  ‘Anxious’ could better describe how he felt while being pursued by gangsters in Chicago, when he was gassed and trapped in a coffin in Egypt; how he felt while trapped in the clutches of the Inca people, while confined to the claustrophobic chambers of the moon rocket, and while preparing to storm General Tapioca’s estate.  Today, Tintin was just... excited.

Captain Haddock had made himself scarce around Marlinspike Hall as soon as breakfast had ended, sure that Tintin would guilt him into saying yes, or at least pester him for an answer.  Haddock wasn’t entirely wrong in that assumption: Tintin had a mental list of instances that would justify entertaining Calculus’s wishes and taking the month-long retreat in the rolling hills of Tuscany.  After half an hour of nonchalantly searching for him, Tintin decided he would be better off leaving the Captain to make up his mind on his own.

Travelling to Italy had been on Tintin’s to-do list for some time, and he wasn’t sure why he never got around to going there sooner.  The country was just gorgeous!  Thinking about it put a skip in his heartbeat - the art, the history, the culture - he could hardly contain himself.  Plus it’d been far too long since he’d seen Calculus and the dear Signora.  Though the Captain could ramble forever about his distaste for the woman, Tintin didn’t mind her all that much.  In fact, she could hold some fascinating conversations about her opera work, and the masterminds behind the masterpieces.  She really was a cultured and dynamic person, if not a little self-centered from time to time.  Regardless, Tintin couldn’t bare the thought of being denied the chance to vacation with his friends in Italy, of all places!

To keep his buzzing mind occupied, Tintin decided to take Snowy for a stroll through Marlinspike.  Since moving in with the Captain nearly ten years prior, Tintin had come to learn the name of nearly every resident of the small village.  He’d become friendly with Cutts the butcher, the postman, the grocer, and he could even say he had a minor part-time position at the quaint little library at the end of the main strip.  The elderly ladies that met for tea at the small cafe thought Tintin was just to die for (“Such a kind-hearted gentleman!”  “Not to mention handsome!”  “I have a granddaughter that would love to meet you!”).  But before he knew it, it was time to return home and prepare himself for supper, and Haddock’s answer; he only hoped it was the right one.

***

Tintin was practically vibrating with anticipation by the time Haddock had come downstairs.  He was a few minutes later and dressed a little smarter than usual, which did not go unnoticed by the resident reporter.  Tintin didn’t pry for the answer, though - instead, he let Nestor serve them drinks, the cooks bring out their meals, and Haddock eat his food without interruption.

“I know you’re anxious to hear my decision,” the Captain said after an absolute eternity, and Tintin most certainly did not grip his fork a bit tighter than necessary, "and I hope you’ll be glad to know that I have come to one.”  Haddock set down his utensils and folded his arms on the table, giving Tintin an earnest look.  Tintin felt his breath catch as he put down his own fork and mirrored Haddock’s posture.  Haddock let out a short breath before speaking again.

“Pack your bags, lad, we’re going to Italy,” he smiled, and Tintin all but leapt out of his chair with a child-like “Woohoo!”  He darted around the table and almost knocked the Captain to the floor as he threw his arms around him and planted a theatrical kiss to his bearded cheek, saying “Oh, _merci mon Capitaine, merci beaucoup_!  Thank you!”

“ _Rien pour vous_ , Tintin,” Haddock replied, patting Tintin on the back, “Anything for you.”  Tintin stepped back, unable to stop smiling, twice as excited as he’d been all day.

“Oh mon dieu, I can’t believe it!” he gushed.  “We’re going, we’re really going!  We’ll see Calculus and Castafiore and congratulate them in person, we’ll see all Italy has to offer - Captain, you really wouldn’t believe the art and the architecture there, I mean I’ve never been, but I’ve seen pictures and it’s all so magnificent!  When does our flight leave, again?  The thirtieth of June?  That’s less than two weeks from now, we must start packing immediately!”

“That can wait until tomorrow, I think,” the Captain said, grabbing Tintin’s elbow to keep him from rocketing into something more fragile than himself.  “If you start now, you’ll be up half the night packing half your wardrobe away.  Yes, it’s better to wait until you get the nerves outta your system.”  Tintin nodded, allowing himself a moment to take a few breaths to ground himself. 

“Come on,” Haddock added, standing up and clapping Tintin on the shoulder, “let’s go sit for a while, and you can tell me more about all that art and architecture you seem to know so much about, already.”

 


	2. Cross Country

“I don’t see him,” Tintin said, craning his neck either way to search up and down the platform.

“He’s here somewhere,” the Captain replied, placing a hand on Tintin’s shoulder for balance, making his own sweep of the station.  “No use searching on the train though, eh?  Grab your bags, we’ll look for him down there.”  Tintin nodded and slipped his suitcase off the overhead rack, shimmying out of the booth they had occupied for the last six hours.  Oh, what a relief it was to stand and stretch out.  Haddock was already halfway down the train car before Tintin pat his leg for Snowy to follow them out.

“I still don’t see him, Captain.”  The platform was a mob of people weaving in and out of each other, and the bits of Italian chatter Tintin picked up were disorienting.  

“Me neither, lad.”

“Let’s at least get out of this crowd - maybe he’s waiting for us at the back.  C’mon, Snowy.”  Snowy yipped and darted down the platform, weaving between the locals’ legs, away from Tintin and Haddock.  “Snowy, no, wait!   _Au pied, mauvais chien_!” [Heel, bad dog!]  Tintin quickly pushed through the people crowding the station, one arm up like a shield, the other dragging his suitcase behind him.  “ _Je suis désolé_ , er, sorry I mean, _mi dispiace, mi dispiace, perdonatemi_!” [I’m sorry ... I’m sorry, I’m sorry, pardon me!]

“Tintin, look!  By the café!” Haddock shouted, pointing his finger up and over the crowd.  Tintin stopped to follow his gaze and just glimpsed a small green hat flying into the air.  The pair rushed forward and finally broke through the mob of travelers to find Snowy perched on the chest of Professor Calculus.

“Snowy, down!   _Mauvais chien_!  Are you alright, Professor?”

“Tintin, Captain, how delightful to see you again!”  Haddock swiftly brought Calculus up to his feet, placing the green hat on his head as Tintin brushed off the professor’s jacket.  

“Sorry about the, er, warm welcome there,” Tintin said, scooping Snowy into his arms.

“Nonsense, I will be driving you myself!  Hurry now, get your luggage, we wouldn’t want to be late!  Big plans tonight, big plans indeed!”  Tintin glanced at Haddock, who could only shrug in return, and followed the eccentric genius down the street to his parked car.  As Haddock began the lengthy explanation of how their travelling had been, knowing full well it would fall on near deaf ears, Tintin let himself drift off, if just for the remaining hour of travel.

***

The plane that flew them to Milan the previous night was a relatively small jet, with few passengers to occupy it - Tintin couldn’t imagine many Belgians having business in Italy - and he and Haddock were lucky enough to have their row to themselves.  After two weeks of seemingly endless stress, the dimly lit cabin was the perfect place for Tintin to let his mind wander, if only for a few hours.  Haddock had fallen asleep mere minutes after they reached a cruising altitude, and Snowy was out not long after.  Tintin took the opportunity to begin writing a letter to Chang; Chang, now married and expecting, had visited Marlinspike only two years prior, but that was the last Tintin had seen him in person.  They kept regular contact through letters and occasional phone calls, and what better way for Tintin to document the trip than to tell his best friend all about it? He made sure to note his new temporary address at the villa; he hoped Chang wrote back soon.

Packing for the trip proved itself to be a challenge for the ages.  Tintin couldn’t seem to cram enough unnecessary things into his suitcase, and Haddock barely spent five total minutes packing his.  Haddock needed constant reminding that it would be July, and therefore hot, and that he would have no need for woolen sweaters.  (In all fairness, Tintin needed the same reminder a few times, too, being such a stickler for detail.)  Both men, so used to wearing the same clothes for days on end during their more dangerous adventures, found it difficult to pack more than three or four shirts.  “Castafiore will more than likely have a washing machine,” Haddock tried to reason, but Tintin countered with the fact that all of her clothing was most likely washed by a private dry-cleaners.

Not to mention the hours spent listening to the Captain bemoan the fact that he would have to spend so much time with Castafiore.  Each and every time Haddock complained about La Signora, Tintin would put down whatever he was doing and ask, “Well then why are you going if you hate her so much?”  That left the Captain speechless every time without fail; sometimes he would become so flustered that he would cross his arms and mumble to himself, or even excuse himself from the room.  He and Tintin both knew very well why the Captain was subjecting himself to such tortures, but Haddock had no problem refusing to admit as much.

“Tintin.  Come on, Tintin, we’re here, lad.”  Already?  Tintin figured he should sleep during more car rides as he slid from the backseat.  Before his feet hit gravel, the scene in front of him knocked the air from his lungs.

 _La Villa di Castafiore_ was far more than Tintin and Haddock could ever dream of.  The sheer size of it alone made Tintin question whether it was an ancient Roman monument, perfectly preserved in time.  A glittering fountain in the middle of the drive reflected sun off at every angle, illuminating the swooping staircases leading to the front door.  The entire thing was an ivory-tone stucco with black and gold accents.  Native wildflowers (and, Tintin noticed, the professor’s own white roses) bloomed all across the front, adding a splash of vibrant colors.

“Hurry, hurry!” Calculus urged, scrambling up the drive.  “Big plans!  Can’t be late!”  Haddock let out a small sigh and bent close to Tintin’s ear as they followed the professor.  “I hope these plans aren’t that big, I just want to smoke my pipe and read an English newspaper.”

“Considering we’re in Italy, Captain, I’m not too confident you’ll get your wish this evening.”

“I’d still rather a nonsense Italian paper than travelling any more than I have to.  It’s been non-stop since we got on that plane last night - a man needs his rest!”

“Well, we’re here for a month, aren’t we?  Plenty of time for rest, plenty of time for ‘big, big plans’, too.”  Either having no response, or simply too tired to think of one, Haddock sighed again as they reached the front door.  Calculus hardly knocked twice before Irma answered with a smile.

“Ah, you have made it!” she exclaimed.  “Please, please, come inside!  Signora will be down in _un momento_ , I will have the butler take your things upstairs.  Please, sit!  Ah Ricardo, si, si, this one up and to the far right, this to the adjoining bedroom.”

“Er, actually, we -” Tintin started.

“Hm?” Irma chirped, the butler Ricardo a quarter of the way upstairs.

“N-nothing, it’s nothing,” Haddock finished.  Irma nodded and ushered Ricardo forward.  Haddock caught Tintin’s gaze, and the look in Tintin’s eye meant he received the message, loud and clear.  Tintin didn’t have to say anything to get his own message across:  We’ll talk about this later.

“ _Irrrmaaaa_!  Are they here yet?”  That sing-song, floaty voice could only belong to one woman - just as Haddock realized it and turned to flee the room (Tintin latching on to his shirt sleeve, effectively rooting him to the spot), Bianca Castafiore appeared at the top of the staircase dressed to the nines in a satiny navy gown.  As she descended the marble stairs, her heels clacking on every step, it was as if the world had stopped just for a moment.  Tintin never quite noticed it until then, but Bianca Castafiore commanded every interaction, every social or party or gathering, with the utmost grace and confidence.  She truly was the woman.

“ _Ciao_ , Signora, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Tintin said, taking Castafiore’s hand in his own.  “And I’d like to offer my congratulations-”

“Ah, but there will be time for that later, Tintin,” she twittered, letting her hand slip away and gesture dramatically in the air.  “You and the Captain are our most welcomed guests this month, and Cuthbert and myself wanted to start by taking you out to a most esteemed restaurant.  Here he is now - Cuthbert, have you put in your hearing aid?”

“Yes, dear, your voice is crystal clear!”

“Excellent!  Tintin, Captain Barstock, if you would be so kind as to change?  Must keep our appearances up, you know.  I’m positive very few people know we are here, but you never know when a rogue photographer will spring up out of nowhere!”

“I hope they don’t have many of these fancy dinners planned,” Haddock muttered once he and Tintin reached the landing.  “I only brought one dress shirt.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, time flies when you procrastinate, doesn't it? I can't even call this "chapter 2", more like "chapter 2a" :C I feel bad only throwing half the chapter up, but I figured a little bit now is better than waiting too much longer. I decided to update every other Wednesday (I know today is Thursday, I'm so bad lol) and I'll hopefully be able to manage that once school starts back up in September too. *crosses fingers* Anyway, feedback/critique is always welcome, enjoy! xxx


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